At the Tabernacle in London, the ministry of Mr. Kinsman was greatly distinguished for its excellence and success, and he thought himself highly honored in preaching the first sermon delivered from the pulpit of the present Tabernacle. His musical voice, his lively and pathetic address, and the richness of the evangelical truths he proclaimed, brought numbers of all classes of society to hear him. Among them was Shuter, the comedian, to whom we shall again refer as a hearer of Whitefield, and who years afterwards, in an interview with Kinsman, drew a striking contrast between their professions, and bitterly lamented that he had not cordially embraced religion, when his conscience was impressed under the preaching of the great evangelist.
But we must not stay longer to speak of Kinsman; suffice it to say that he founded, in addition to Plymouth, a new church three miles from thence, at a place now called Devonport, and labored with energy and holy success till the sixty-ninth year of his age, when he died in triumph, February 28, 1793. Of such a man it was truly said, that for Whitefield "he retained the most filial affection to his dying day; and frequently travelled with, and consulted him as a father upon all his religious concerns."
In March Whitefield returned to London, where the feeble state of his health made him feel weary even in his success. He says, "I have seen enough of popularity to be sick of it, and did not the interest of my blessed Master require my appearing in public, the world should hear but little of me henceforward." Yet his zeal abated not. "I dread the thoughts of flagging in the latter stages of my road," is an expression often used in his letters to his friends. He thought that preaching and travelling contributed to his health. In a letter to Hervey, he says, "Fear not your weak body, we are immortal till our work is done. Christ's laborers must live by miracle; if not, I must not live at all, for God only knows what I daily endure. My continual vomitings almost kill me, and yet the pulpit is my cure; so that my friends begin to pity me less, and to leave off that ungrateful caution, 'Spare thyself.' I speak this to encourage you."
All this Whitefield meant. Hence in May we find him preaching at Portsmouth daily, for more than a week, to very large and attentive auditories; where was shown another remarkable instance of the power which attended his preaching, for many who a few days before were speaking all manner of evil against him, were very desirous of his longer stay to preach the gospel among them. From Bristol, June 24, he writes, "Yesterday God brought me here, after a circuit of about eight hundred miles, and enabled me to preach to, I suppose, upwards of a hundred thousand souls. I have been in eight Welsh counties, and I think we have not had one dry meeting. The work in Wales is much upon the advance, and likely to increase daily."
Whitefield returned to London to welcome his wife home from the Bermuda Islands. From her he learned that there his character had been aspersed by one of the clergy; but while he grieved over the fact, he said, "I am content to wait till the day of judgment for the clearing up of my character; and after I am dead, I desire no other epitaph than this, 'Here lies George Whitefield. What sort of a man he was, the great day will discover.'"
In the midst of his sorrows, Whitefield was comforted by a visit from two German ministers, who had been laboring among the Jews with apparently happy results. He found also several of the peeresses, and others of "the great," cordially disposed to receive him; and shortly afterwards was visited by Mr. Grimshaw, a clergyman from Yorkshire, for whom in September he went to preach. Thousands in the village of Haworth attended his preaching, even ten thousand at a time, and a thousand communicants approached the table of the Lord. At Leeds also he preached, at the invitation of Mr. Wesley's people, to ten thousand persons, and Mr. Charles Wesley himself introduced him to the pulpit at Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
In the north of England the visits of Mr. Whitefield were always looked for with intense interest. In one of his letters, he thus describes the state of things there in August, 1756: "It is now a fortnight since I came to Leeds, in and about which I preached eight days successively, three times almost every day, to thronged and affected auditories. On Sunday last at Bradford, in the morning, the audience consisted of above ten thousand; at noon, and in the evening, at Birstal, of nearly double that number. Though hoarse, I was able to speak so that they all heard." These hallowed services were often spoken of by the late Rev. Dr. John Fawcett, for more than half a century an eminent Baptist minister of that neighborhood, to whose soul they proved a rich blessing. After having heard Whitefield at Bradford in the morning, he followed him to Birstal, where a platform was erected at the foot of a hill adjoining the town, whence Mr. Whitefield addressed an immense concourse of people, not fewer, it was believed, than twenty thousand, who were ranged before him on the declivity in the form of an amphitheatre. "I lay," says Fawcett, "under the scaffold, and it appeared as if all his words were addressed to me, and as if he had known my most secret thoughts from ten years of age. As long as life remains, I shall remember both the text and the sermon." Accustomed as he was to preach to large and promiscuous multitudes, when he looked on this vast assemblage, and was about to mount the temporary stage, he expressed to his surrounding friends a considerable feeling of timidity; but when he began to speak, an unusual solemnity pervaded the assembly, and thousands, in the course of the sermon, as was often the fact, gave vent to their emotions by tears and groans. Fools who came to mock, began to pray, and to cry out, "What must we do to be saved?"
Mr. Shirley, in giving an account of this same service, tells us that "not only the field, but the woodlands about it, were covered with crowds collected from different parts. An unusual solemnity pervaded this vast multitude, and at the close of the service the one hundredth psalm was sung, and concluded with Mr. Grimshaw's favorite doxology,
"'Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.'